68 



NEW ENGLAND FARMER. 



Feb 



Fur the New England Farmer. 

 GRINDING FEED. 



Mr. Editor : — In the last Farmer I notice a 

 quotation from the Ohio Farmer, recommending 

 the grinding of hay and other feed for our farm 

 stock. There may be an advantage in this — but, 

 if so, I very much doubt whether the writer of 

 that article has given the true reason for it. I 

 can hardly believe that it is to be found in the 

 saving to the anijnal of the labor of cliewing the 

 food. I have always been taught, and am still 

 quite disposed to believe, that the process of 

 chewing food assists in its digestion in other ways 

 than by minutely dividing it. The saliva, which 

 is mixed with the food during mastication, is sup- 

 posed to possess strong solvent properties, and 

 also to produce chemical changes in the food, 

 which fit it to be more readily acted on by the 

 gastricjuiceinthe stomach. Physiologists recom- 

 mend slow eating, that thus the most abundant 

 supply of saliva may be fui-nished ; and dyspep- 

 sia, and a long train of diseases, are supposed to 

 follow the disregard of this advice. Probably no 

 one;-ttt this tlay, would recommend the hurried 

 swallowing even of "/i as/?/ pudding," without some 

 • V considerable amount of chewing. A friend of 

 mine, one whose business was teaming from Bos- 

 ton to a town twelve or fourteen miles in the 

 country, told me that his practice had been to 

 leave his team at the south side of Faneuil Hall, 

 go to North Market Street, eat his dinner, and 

 be back to his team again after an absence of on- 

 ly _yire mimdcs. He had done it by his watch in 

 four and a half minutes. He has since suffered, 

 t and is still suffering, the consequences of such a 

 -. reckless habit, having been intensely afflicted 

 ■with dyspepsia for a number of years. With 

 this experience in his own person, he discontin- 

 ued cutting hay for his horses' feed, giving them 

 long hay, moistened and sprinkled with meal, 

 thus compelling them «o use the means which 

 nature, perhaps ii^ischj, provided for the prepara- 

 tion of their food for digestion. Is there any 

 reason why thorough mastication of food is less 

 necessary for a horse or a cow than for a man ? 

 A neighbor of mine, an old and experienced far- 

 mer, once said to me, that a calf Avould require 

 much less milk when allowed to take it in the 

 natural way, than when required to drink it from 

 a pail. From my own experience, I am convinced 

 this is a fact. If it is so, is it not likely that the 

 reason is, that, in the slower mode of taking it, 

 the saliva has a better opportunity to mix with 

 the food, and thus render it more digestible, more 

 appropriable to the promotion of growth ? 



I am quite ready to believe there may be an 

 advantage in grinding hay for cattle, as it would 

 thus go into the stomach in a finely divided state, 

 ■whether the animal chewed it much or little, and 

 it would thus be more readily acted on by the 

 gastric juice. A greater per centage of the food 

 would probably thus be digested, and pass into 

 the circulation, and form flesh or milk. Still, 

 there does not seem to be the same reason for 

 grinding hay that there is for grinding grain. 

 Most of the grains are provided with a covering 

 that will usually resist the action of the gastric 

 juice unless it is broken — and in the haste of eat- 

 ing, much grain would be swallowed whole, and 

 pass through the animal undigested. Even birds, 



with their strong digestive power, are known in 

 this way to be the means of conveying seeds un- 

 injured to distant places. Hay, on the contrary, 

 has no such resisting coating, and from its shape 

 is not so likely to reach the stomach without be- 

 ing at least bruised and crushed, sufficiently to 

 enable the juices of the mouth and stomach to 

 mix with it, and put it in such a condition that 

 it will yield up most of its nutriment. 



M. Pratt. 

 Concord, Mass., Dec. 15, 1857. 



GOING TO THE FAIB. 



BY ims. FIU5CES D. GAGE. 



t 



Ben Fisher had finished his harvesting, 



And he stood by the orchard gate, 

 One foot on the rail and one on the ground, 



As he called to his good wife — Kate. 

 There were stains of toil on his manly hand. 



The dust of the field on his hat, 

 But a twinkle of pleasure was in his eye 



As he looked on his stock so fat. 



"Here, give me the baby, dear Kate, you are tired, 



I fear you have too much care, 

 "Vou must rest and pick up a little, I think, 



Before we go to the fair. 

 I'd hate to be taking fat oxen, you know, 



Fat hogs, and fat sheep, and fat cow, 

 ■With a wife at my elbows as poor as a crow, 



And care-wrinkles shading her brow. 



" 'Can't go,' did you say ? 'Can't afford the expense ?' 



I know, Kate, our crops ain't the best, 

 But we've labored together to keep things along, 



And together we'll now take a rest. 

 The orchard is bare, but old brindle is prime. 



And Lily and Fan are a show. 

 Your butter and cheese can't be beat in the State, 



So up to the fair we will go. 



"You've ne'er seen a city, and Cleveland is fine. 



Ne'er seen the blue, billowy Lake, 

 Ne'er rode in a rail car, nor been in a throng, 



So, Kate, this journey we'll take, 

 And garner new feelings, new thoughts and new ways. 



If we find those that suit as we roam, 

 And garner up sti-ength with our head, heart and hands, 



For the love and the duties of home. 



"I sometimes have thought, Kate, as I plodded along. 



For months, o'er the same weary ground. 

 That a fellow who had such a really hard time, 



In Ohio no where could be found. 

 But when I've been called from my home for awhile, 



And seen how the rest get along, 

 I've come back to my toil with a light, cheerful heart, 



An(? 'there's no place like home,' was my song. 



"I wonder that mothers don't wholly despair, 



Who ne'er from their cares get away, 

 But walk the same tread-wheel of duty for years, 



Scarce stopping to rest night or day. 

 I don't wonder they grow discontented sometimes, 



That their feelings grow rapsy and cold, 

 For toil never-ending, and labor uncheered. 



Makes women — and men, sometimes scold." 



Kate looked up with a smile, and said, "Ben, we'll go 5 



There may be better oxen than ours. 

 Horses swifter on foot, and finer by far. 



Better butter and cheese, fruit and flowers, 

 But there's one thing I claim I know can't be beat 



In the whole Yankee nation to-day, 

 I'd not swap liim, I know, for a kingdom to boot — 



That's my 'gude man j' " and Kate ran away. 



Ohio Cultivator. 



